


Who Keeps Your Flame

by quakethirteen



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), because I hate myself, does it count as major character death if he's already dead, everyone else writes fix it fic but NOT ME
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 09:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14517951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakethirteen/pseuds/quakethirteen
Summary: Unlike most of the other casualties of Thanos' great balancing, Stephen Strange faded alone on Titan, leaving behind no one to keep his name in good memory - all except one.





	Who Keeps Your Flame

Wong sat in the armchair, staring at the cell phone in his hand. It was a basic model, the candybar kind, built simply for its primary function of making calls and sending text messages. He had insisted, exasperatedly, several times, that he was beyond material pursuits and frivolous luxuries; but Stephen had refuted, each time, that he needed a phone, even the dumbest kind of smartphone, in case of emergencies.

How ironic then that his emergency contact – his only contact – was not answering the phone.

It had started with an eerie sort of chaos. Not too different from the commotion from just a few hours earlier, that of cars and boards and brick and metal and cinderblock and tarmac crashing into one another and contorting out of shape, as one would expect from an alien invasion; but what really sealed it was how very _inhuman_ the noise was. There was plenty of material mayhem. Very little screaming punctuating it; what yelling originally streamed through the streets kept dwindling at a steady pace. That was when curiosity took Wong over and took his feet back out of the Sanctum doors.

What he saw was right out of his worst nightmares.

The dwindling noise was because the people making them were simply ceasing to exist. Dissolving into nothing but dust and ash, maybe not even that much, right in front of his face. The only trace that they had been there at all was material; a car crashed into a pole whose driver had vanished, a Starbucks cup spilt on the sidewalk mid-consumption, a stroller in the middle of the road with both mother and child nowhere to be seen. The few that were left, standing stunned in the midst of the wreckage that was once Bleecker Street, shifted through facial expressions of confusion, shock, and grief within seconds.

It hit Wong like the crashed car. He had done it.

Thanos had won. He had collected all the Infinity Stones. Half of all life in the universe was now gone. Just like that.

His reflex action was to look up at his own hand. Stared at it for a good few seconds, maybe a whole minute. Nothing happened. It stayed whole. He walked right back to the Sanctum, and it still stayed intact. Pottered up and down the battered stairs trying to collect himself over what he had just seen, and his feet remained solid. Carried him straight back to his study to carry out his next course of action.

The phone… the phone… there it was. Tucked away in the back of a bottom drawer on the assumption he’d never have to use it, but this wasn’t a day like any other. It wasn’t even an emergency like any other. The last time he had seen Stephen, he was being rescued from Ebony Maw by Tony Stark and the Spider-Man, and it looked certain they had it under control while Wong went to rescue a rather hapless Bruce Banner. Suddenly he found himself regretting his decision to stay at the Sanctum. But if Stephen wasn’t there to guard it, who could be?

He found the contact labelled Stephen Strange. Dialled it.

It kept ringing. The annoying dial tone grated on for a whole minute before it went to voicemail. How does voicemail even work?

“Uh… Stephen. If you get this, somehow… come back to the Sanctum immediately. Something terrible has happened. This is Wong, by the way.”

The words felt hollow for some reason. But he couldn’t be assuming the worst, not so soon…

He went back to the lounge and sat on the armchair, closing his eyes and attempting to lull his mind into a meditative state. If Stephen was still somewhere on Earth, he would almost certainly feel his presence, even if it meant going via the astral plane. But he felt nothing. Plenty of voices, but not the one he was looking for. Perhaps he was not on Earth? If he had boarded Maw’s ship, there was a chance he might have travelled with it. In any other case that would earn him a reprimanding, but right then Wong decided to concentrate. He couldn’t make his trance too deep lest he could not escape it himself.

All at once it began happening. At one point Stephen had never shut up about the time The Ancient One took him through a tour of the dimensions, but while he was falling through them in an almost manic state, Wong’s descent was more controlled, more fluid, guided by his search for a single, distinct life force.

But he didn’t find it. Not a mote, not a sliver. The realization yanked him backwards against the armchair in a cold sweat.

That… wasn’t possible. No, of course it was possible. Thanos’ choice of universal death was at random.

It wasn’t _fair_.

Oh, Stephen… “What have you done?” he exhaled aloud, head buried in his hands. He shut his eyes so as not to think of the image of Stephen fading into dust as he had just seen on the street… he had done it again. He had given up the Time Stone, under his protection, and affected his own death. Yet again. And perhaps for good this time… no, not like that. That thought was banished.

Wong had to wonder just how self-sacrificial Stephen Strange was to willingly go through death so many times just so it could serve a greater purpose. Especially since once, he had come so close to death having labored under a false sense of purpose.

Because he was certain he had done this on purpose; he wouldn’t just give away the Time Stone, Wong had taught him better than that. And Stephen trusted in Wong enough not to cross him. The men shared an understanding, a mutual respect but most importantly a mutual trust in each other’s minds and abilities. Enough to call them good friends.

This realization left Wong with another problem.

Stephen had a plan, of that he was certain. But in the meantime, Wong needed to carry out something for him – as only his friend could.

* * *

The fanfare one gets when you’re Tony Stark is understandable. The Iron Man is a larger-than-life celebrity lifesaver and genius innovator beyond everyone’s wildest dreams, so it was just as expected for a crowd – or what was left of the crowd – to turn up for his funeral. Or presumed funeral.

Wong had an inkling Stark was alive. Somewhere, out in the cosmos. And he had been with Stephen just as he had left Earth, but there was no presence of Stephen whatsoever. Regardless, when you’ve been missing a good few days out of cellphone service and half the population just turned to dust, it was the foregone conclusion.

Pepper Potts had led the service. Wong didn’t attend; even though he had briefly known Stark, it would be awkward, and Stephen might indirectly have to bear the brunt of his disappearance from her. It was, however, a very heartfelt, beautiful speech that he read in the paper later, of the man Tony was outside of the suit. Among the few articles they managed to squeeze through with the limited editorial staff on hand was a statement from Wakanda, delivered by the still-surviving Steve Rogers, mourning the death of the king. _Didn’t they just lose their king very recently?_ It would be a hard-hitting loss, Wong knew, for the young T’Challa had proven to be very forthright and popular, in the few moments he had to step into his father’s shoes.

It was not the only thing Steve had said. He had hoped to regroup what was left of the Avengers, the return of Thor providing a boost to their ranks, a minor spark in an otherwise truly helpless situation. Trust the Captain to put on a brave face in times of turmoil, providing the path for everyone to follow, not necessarily because it was an answer, but because it felt right.

The announcement also made him feel a little better about what he was about to do, for he would have company – mildly awkward company, but company nonetheless.

Over the last twenty-four hours it had occurred to him that Stephen Strange had very few friends – almost none. Watching Stark’s funeral service, and the plenty of others that were going around, only served to rub it in. Every one of those people had touched so many lives, had left behind memories in others’ hearts they carried with them because they chose to, for the good they had done.

It was highly unlikely everyone who knew Stephen in his days as a surgeon would feel that way about him. He had still been as much a recluse back then as he was now, but that was purely of his own foolish making. The people he had chosen to surround himself with would regard him more as a contact, not a friend. And after his accident, would have almost certainly left him behind. Wong knew Stephen had an ex-girlfriend who still felt disparately affectionate towards him, but he had no idea how to reach her. Or if she could even be reached now.

And now, in his life as a sorcerer, he had become a recluse by choice. He felt the weight of all of reality on his shoulders as much as Wong did, maybe more so because of how the Ancient One had thrust it upon him, by seeing his inherent goodness as the key to having that capability. Sure, he had always been up for the occasional teatime conversation with students at Kamar-Taj, but he had never been one for close bonds. Except with Wong. Because Wong knew just how much haunted him every day and night guarding the balance between dimensions, but he never once came close to giving it up; not when doing so meant it would make him a far lesser person than he could be.

And he had shown just how much of a person he could be – how capable of greatness, but how simply _good_ – by dying over and over for the sake of everyone on Earth. The very same people milling in the street just then. Stephen Strange had died for them all, and they didn’t even know it; but what mattered more is he chose to not let them know it.

And now he was gone, with barely a proper funeral.

Or at least, as much as Wong could try and make of one.

This was what he explained to Thor, as they stood in a grassy patch of land some distance above Kamar-Taj, a pocket dimension housed within the Sanctum there, which only Wong knew to access. He had portaled over the only two other people who had known Stephen for a significant period of time and survived Thanos’ justice; Thor maybe more so than Bruce Banner, who had met the sorcerers for all of ten minutes since he had unceremoniously crashed through their roof. But Bruce had already been to at least five funerals before this one, each worse than the last, and was fully prepared to attend one for his best friend; so he felt another couldn’t hurt. And Strange had seemed like a nice guy, despite his stoicism in the face of certain doom.

“I would have suggested he join the Avengers,” Thor mused, as the three men gazed upon the simple stone plaque reading _Stephen Vincent Strange_ and a birth and death year. “But I feel that would be a disrespect to his capabilities.”

“Agreed,” Bruce nodded. “And I doubt he would’ve said yes.”

“He wouldn’t,” Wong affirmed, swallowing back a stray trace of emotion. “He really did live up to his name… a very strange man. The only way he works is by working alone, and yet he is the first person I know… I know, to put his life on the line for another. I have never known a greater paradox of selflessness.”

Thor gazed at him sympathetically. “I wish I could’ve known him better, the way you do, perhaps. I still need a great deal of advice as king, wherever my people may be… and I would’ve gone to him, no doubt.”

“I think you just settled a eulogy, man.”

Wong shook his head at Bruce. “Well, I have never written a speech in my life. I have always stuck straight to the point. Dramatic flair was Stephen’s thing. So I don’t think he’d want me to try it now. Or he’d probably laugh at me.

“So I suppose what I will say is… thank you. For being a willing apprentice and an eager learner, who still owes me 50 rupees in late fees. For bringing me back from the dead that one time, and now I have to mourn at your own funeral, you jackass.” He wiped a tear from his eye. It was highly unusual for him; Stephen had usually been the more emotional between the two of them, and now the emotional core was gone. “For your company, and your aid, in the heavy burden of reality we must bear. And… for being a friend. And allowing me to be your friend.”

“To a great wizard, and a noble man,” Thor concluded, raising an imaginary glass. Bruce sniffled in response. “Thank you, Wong, for allowing us to be here.”

“No, thank you, for agreeing to come. I’m not sure I could’ve managed it alone.”

Once he had ushered them back to Wakanda, Wong stood there for a while longer, gazing at the plaque and the grass ruffling beyond it, a dimension away from the world. He chuckled darkly a little at the thought; Stephen being as alone in death as he was in life, but the even worse part was that he would’ve approved. He didn’t exactly know where the Strange family cemetery was.

“You don’t write speeches, you say? That was pretty good.”

Wong’s head swiveled around at the sound of the voice. There was absolutely no one around, but he could still hear it; not a person in sight for miles, but he could still somehow _feel_ the presence of the bald, stately, Celtic woman – reality was all over the place. No thanks to the Infinity Stones.

“You’re wondering if I’m really here,” the Ancient One chuckled, gazing into his mind’s eye with the same wealth of wisdom she had possessed in life long ago. “What is really here? What is, and what is not? How much time have you spent here? Why, even the soul is tangible in this moment. You know it, don’t you?”

“I do,” Wong nodded, though he had no idea at whom. “So did Stephen.”

The Ancient One nodded, a movement he only perceived like a tingle behind him. “What is important is that you not lose faith in him – in the knowledge you yourself taught him. And going by that funeral service, I doubt you will, very soon.”

“I don’t plan on it.” He let out a deep sigh. “I’m all he’s got. I would hardly expect Mordo to-“

“Leave Karl for another day. He is not part of the effects Stephen has put into motion. But you are. As random as Thanos may like it to seem, he has not tempted fate as the Vishanti has – no, he could never be a god. Neither can Stephen. But he knows how being of a godly disposition works.”

“Never, ever tell him that.”

“Oh, I won’t. How could I? That’s on you.” She laughed.

Wong rolled his eyes. “And I thought I had a penchant for being vague.”

“Since when has anything we have done made sense in a one-dimensional notion of being?”

“Fair point.” He sighed again. “I know what I have to do.”

The Ancient One smiled, a ghost of a smile only he could see. “But of course you do.”

Within moments he was back in his study in the Sanctum – not even in the Kamar-Taj courtyard. He didn’t really complain; the visions he had seen had almost guilted him into getting to work. It would be a long, hard road, he knew, and for who knows how long; if things would ever reverse, and they had to wait a few days or whole years till it happened – or if it never did, and what was left of the world would have to move on. Putting every sacrifice Stephen ever made in vain.

Wong couldn’t let that happen. Not least because genocide was an unequivocally terrible idea, but this man he had watched grow from the brink of nothing, begrudgingly befriended, and defended the earth with at the cost of his own life deserved far better than being a footnote in a newspaper obituary list added through his last dollar. Stephen Strange may have never wanted the world to celebrate his painful successes, but he was always glad there was still a world to come back to at the end of them, no matter how ungrateful they seemed.

And he would let the world know, in his own silent manner.

First, a tuna melt, if the deli down the road was still functional, and didn’t care what currency they accepted in the moment.

It was a rubbish toast, but it would do.

Stephen wouldn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SO SORRY. I realized just how alone Stephen truly is in the grander scheme of things at 2 am, my poor baby, and I had to get it down as a fic. I hope I've done him and Wong justice - they really do deserve so much better.
> 
> Apologies for the shameless Hamilton reference in the title. The damn song has been stuck in my head since I left the theatre.
> 
> As always, do leave kudos and/or comments if you enjoyed this rabble - I mean this in a completely non-sadistic sense. I promise.


End file.
